


because of you

by Dreamy_Mark_Lee



Category: Real Person Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25545925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamy_Mark_Lee/pseuds/Dreamy_Mark_Lee
Summary: Claire McNeil was born into a family of uber-successful parents in the sports world. It is expected of her that she takes the hierarchy but with high expectations and appraisal from her parents and peers, she is torn between becoming a "people pleaser" or an "independent woman." But after a bad car accident, the future of Claire's softball career hangs in the balance. With the help of Christian Cross, a somewhat cocky, charming, and disciplined basketball player; he shows Claire all sorts of perspectives she would have never thought of.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> well, well, well. i have written a new story, hopefully it doesn't flop like the other ones.

PROLOGUE

_in this world, sacrifices must be made for the so-called, “greater good.” what is this “greater good,” you ask? a few moments of beguiled splendor? or maybe in fact, nothing at all._

_news articles fluttered around the town and i could hardly escape the local gossip in the grocery stores or even my regular attendance at the public library. i could hardly meet eyes with anyone who mentioned my family name; it was as if their uber-successful shadow followed me even as an adult. my family always told me they would be proud of me no matter what i did—which i didn’t think that was the case; they were nonetheless—disappointed, in fact, very disappointed._

_i read the newspaper that was scattered haphazardly in the middle of the cereal aisle. “giving up the dream,” it read. i rolled my eyes as i picked up the paper that was slightly torn and bent at the edges. “not sure what **they’re** getting out of this story, but ok,” i groaned as i placed it on the shelf. ever since i gave up “my dream” family, friends, and even complete strangers approached me and interrogated me as if i committed a horrific crime, but i was totally innocent. no one understood the amount of pressure i dealt with, mainly because i bottled it up, but that was beside the point—i hated it. _

_they called me an anarchist—maybe that’s over-exaggerating, but whatever, because i tarnished the family name, but the media got it all wrong. everyone got it wrong; all wrong. as much as i tried to explain myself, i was often bombarded with lies my family told or even interrupted by false accusations. i couldn’t escape the always-watching eyes of the public, and sometimes i would even be harassed at my part-time job at the sandwich shop._


	2. destiny

april

☆destiny☆

As the morning sun blazed overhead, Claire McNeil rubbed the sweat from her face and readjusted her grip on the seams of the softball. Admiring the valley view, she took a few deep breaths before throwing the ball back and wincing at the sharp pain in her arm.

“That’s why you throw overhand.” Her father said sternly. “Not sidearm.” 

She swung her arms in a circular motion before pulling them back. “Yeah, I know.”

“Then why aren’t you making the adjustment?” He said as he tossed the ball back. 

_Not so sure._ Claire ignored the rather pushy response made by her father, Mark McNeil, and threw the ball back; this time overhand. The ball made a loud clap when it made contact with his leather glove, almost as if it echoed throughout the valley before resonating back to her ears. “Better,” he replied. 

Just because he was once a professional baseball player and a future Hall-of-Famer, he thinks he can boss me around and criticize my every move? _I mean, technically he can boss me around, but his lack of sympathy to the saying “If the world was perfect, it wouldn’t be,” tends to grind my gears. Who said that again? Anyways, but to compensate with that shenanigan he brings his over-enthusiasm of “following his dream” into play._ She often wonders about his complex brain functions when it comes to baseball or softball, but it often crash-lands into a field of unknowing or colliding with several godammit moments before she gives up completely in understanding his “baseball-god-complex.” 

After a few more throws she backs up about five steps; her metal spikes crunching the dirt as if she stomped in a pile of Autumn foliage. And to her surprise, Claire finds herself staring at the backstop with the chainlink minutely rusted and the intricate diamond shapes sewing together towering metal poles. With each throw, she felt her arm loosen up before she was almost on the outfield grass, and once again, she glanced at the backstop. This time, her attention was brought to a man walking a fluffy blond dog with his giddy strides and his tail wagging joyfully. Claire stepped hard before releasing the ball with her fingertips slightly grazing the sewn seams and her leg kicking forward and following through. 

“Come in,” Mark said as he placed his glove on the side and then carrying the buckets to home plate. Claire jogged in as she scanned the panoramic view of the multi-hued valley of greens, reds, and shades of orange. 

Mark had already emptied the buckets and clenched the bat with his other hand; Claire jogged and took the buckets out to second base before scanning the dirt. She hastily kicked over uneven patches and picked up rocks to cast off to the side.  “Ready?” Mark asked as he held the ball in his hand. “I want you to take an angle on the ball, even if it’s hit straight on. You tend to let your glove hang instead of tucking it in.”  She nodded as she punched the inside of her glove, signaling she was ready. She led with her right foot; followed by her left foot, each step making a satisfactory crunch beneath her. 

_Right. Left. Jump._

With great agility and gracefulness, Claire took an angle and fielded the ball smoothy before placing the ball into the bucket. 

“Take a deeper angle, your glove still wasn’t tucked in.” 

She nodded before kicking the rust-colored dirt, creating a large cloud of dirt in front of her. And once again, Mark hit the ball, but this time it arched as it hit a rock, taking a bad hop. Claire slammed her right knee onto the ground in hopes of not letting the ball go past her, and the ball hit her chest before hitting the ground.

“Good,” Mark said. 

Claire dusted her knee off as she sauntered over to the gathering of two buckets and a cloth bag. “Ouch, that kinda hurt.” She said to herself as if she was expecting an “Are you alright?” from Mark, but it simply was a part of the game. She tossed the ball, and it hit the rim before falling in and making a deep thud sound. Claire enjoyed practicing here because it was encased by the valley walls, surrounded by trees and the breeze was crisp and often refreshed her if she found herself frustrated. 

Even if she was aggrieved or melancholic, the sight of the field, the backstop, and the movement of the grass soothed her in ways she couldn’t fathom. Astonishingly, the things she was a lament about reinforced her passion for the game and often left her wondering what she would do if she hadn’t picked up a softball. 

“I want you to break that habit, it’s decreasing your mobility on the field,” Mark said. Claire despised the car rides home, even though they lived a five-minute drive away, it seemingly lasted hours. 

Claire scratched the side of her cheek before replying. “Yes, dad.” 

“Did you look at the video I sent you earlier?” 

“What vid—?” She interrupted herself before completing her thought. “I believe so.” 

“Check it out when you have the chance.” 

Claire looked out the passenger’s window and examined the already well-known street that presented the in-shape community; with runners, walkers, and bike riders. It was no neighborhood that she pictured her family living in, but it was well suited for their daily needs. She thought her parents would have appreciated a larger home—surrounded by towering pines or an ocean view, but instead, they chose a valley home in the middle of the ocean. But Claire didn’t grumble, she appreciated it as much as everyone else did, as it was humble and comforting. 

Mark closed the door and started walking before slowing his gait. “Claire?”

“Yes?” She stopped in her tracks before biting the inside of her cheek. 

“I’m proud of you, you’re putting in a lot of work. Ellie would be happy.”

“Thank you, dad. I’ll continue to work hard.”

My mother, Ellie was often at home and working on various home projects that kept her occupied while also balancing a cooking blog. She had once been an exceptional athlete in her college days, who set many records at UCLA and contributed to taking home the gold in 1996. And I, Claire McNeil was a product of their athleticism, and crowned the heir to the “diamond throne.” _But did I want that hierarchy?_

_Maybe, maybe not._ But, that’s what we have to do, continue the legacy and carry the lit torch of success down the forged path made by those before us. And to be praised we must sacrifice our blood, sweat, and tears and be willing to endure whatever it takes to achieve greatness. However, many fall before completing their destiny and spiral into an unforsaken hole, losing touch with the idealistic aspects of reality and ultimately, leading to hamartia. 


End file.
